


Dareth Shiral

by Jarino



Series: Rima Lavellan, Herald of Andraste [21]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Lore, F/M, Family Loss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Vallaslin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7020184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarino/pseuds/Jarino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Rima and Cullen lie in bed together, she answers a few questions he has about the Dalish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dareth Shiral

Rima lay content, her eyes closed peacefully as fingers gently trailed across her forehead. When his ministrations continued, a smile stretched across her face before she opened her eyes to gaze up at him happily. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

Cullen glanced down at her, mild wonder in his eyes as he returned her smile. “Tracing your markings,” he answered. “I recall your people had a special word for them…Valla…slan? Vallaslen?” He gave a small grimace, knowing he was mispronouncing the term.

She laughed lightly before supplying an answer. “Vallaslin. It means ‘blood writing.’ They’re a rite of passage for the Dalish. When an elf comes of age, they choose one of the Creators that they wish to honor and are bestowed with their mark after proving that they will not flinch in the face of pain.”

He stared at her thoughtfully, continuing to run his finger along the tattoos that spanned her cheeks. “And, ah…who are yours dedicated to?” After the words left his mouth, he paused. “Unless…that is too personal a question…That may have been too presumptuous of me to ask…”

Giving a comforting smile, she took hold of his hand with the intent of quelling his concerns. “It might be a touchy subject for some Dalish, especially coming from a human, but I have no trouble telling you.” He swallowed thickly, but the furrow in his brows did at least lessen. “I chose to honor Mythal, the Great Protector. She is a goddess of love and justice, and alongside Elgar’nan is one of the leaders of our pantheon.”

“What…um, that is – who are the other members?” he asked hesitantly. He still appeared mildly on-edge, as though he feared his questions might offend her.

She moved to sit upwards, meeting his eyes as she settled into a comfortable position. “Cullen,” she said gently, “You’re allowed to ask about my heritage. I’d be happy to talk about it with you.”

His eyebrows lifted in mild surprise, but soon enough, his expression soothed and his lips spread out into a small smile.

“As for an answer to your question…there are eight Creators in total, not counting Fen’Harel. Mythal and Elgar’nan are the All-Mother and All-Father, respectively, and are seen as the rulers of our gods. It is said that Elgar’nan and the sun fought for an eternity in a battle that was wrought by jealousy. Only Mythal could quell his need for vengeance, and after she convinced him to free the sun, the two worked together to rebuild the world. Falon’din and Dirthamen are their eldest children, twin brothers who were always by one another’s side.”

Cullen leaned back against the bed frame, shifting slightly so that he could meet her gaze as he listened.

“Falon’din is the god of death and fortune and guides those who have passed into the Beyond while Dirthamen is a deity of secrets and knowledge who spread his gift and instilled loyalty within the elven people.”

Her eyes dropped a fraction and her smile suddenly became more wistful and distant. “It’s funny…” she uttered softly. “My uncles chose the vallaslin of Falon’din and Dirthamen long before they’d even met, and yet they ended up inseparable for an entirely different reason.”

Rima was silent for a few moments, her gaze turned downward and Cullen’s expression instantly turned to one of concern. Before he could say anything, she was speaking again. “They met at an Arlathvhen, when Uncle Len joined our clan…I’m told he was incredibly distant towards the other members of our clan, but Baldev took it in stride. He tried to approach him despite everything and did his best to make him feel welcome…” A small chuckle escaped her and she turned her gaze toward Cullen once more. “Remind you of anyone?”

Despite the worry creasing his brow, his lips turned up the barest amount as he recounted their early days in Haven. She soon looked away, chewing on her bottom lip with uncertainty as her hand wove its way into Cullen’s. He accepted her grip, gently entwining their fingers before giving a supportive squeeze.

She was silent for a few moments more before she found the words she’d been searching for. “The…The next two members of the pantheon are Andruil and Sylaise. They were sisters, though unlike the twins, were about as different as you could get. Andruil was the master of the hunt, and described as ‘blood and force’, while Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper, was known to be much more…mellow, I suppose.” Her thumb idly rubbed circles into Cullen’s palm as she sat there, contemplating how to continue. “My mother wore the markings of Sylaise, and in many ways, I can see the resemblance between the two. She was a healer, though her skills lied mostly in herbalism, and she was unbelievably kind…And – and my father…ironically enough wore June’s vallaslin. June is…well, it’s unclear whether he was a brother to Andruil and Sylaise or whether he was Sylaise’s husband, but I think my parents preferred to believe the latter.”

Cullen squeezed her hand once more and she managed to give him an appreciative smile. “That isn’t to say vallaslin are some sort of representation of who you are as a person or who you’re destined to be close to…Sometimes these sorts of coincidences just happen. As it happens, June is a god of craft, but my father was a hunter. He just felt more admiration for the gifts June bestowed upon us rather than, say, Andruil.”

A shuddering breath left her and the following words came much more quickly. “Speaking of whom, Ghilan’nain was originally one of the People, but was chosen by Andruil, and eventually became the Mother of the halla.”

“Love, you don’t need to keep at this,” Cullen murmured gently. He’d inadvertently dug up old wounds regarding the loss of her clan and the last thing he wanted to do was cause her more pain.

“No,” she answered softly. “I should at least tell you the rest…”

Though he was hesitant to let her continue, he acquiesced with a small nod.

With a heavy sigh, Rima leaned against Cullen’s shoulder. “And last but not least, is Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. He was an odd case…a being that could walk among both the Creators and the Forgotten Ones without truly being a part of either side. He was originally seen as a trickster god, but has now become known as the god of betrayal and misfortune. He ended up betraying both sides…sealing them both in their respective realms forever. That was no doubt the beginning of the downfall of our people…the gods no longer answered our prayers and we were put on the path of loss and destruction.”

She shook her head in grief, her grip on Cullen’s hand tightening ever more. “It’s a Keeper’s job to remember…to take what little history we’ve preserved and use it to protect and strengthen our clan. That was what Deshanna was training me to do…All the stories, the records…It was all passed on to me in preparation for the day when I would succeed her…” Her eyes fell shut and her shoulders shook as she suppressed a sob. “But now she’s dead. They’re all dead…because of-”

Rima cut herself off, knowing he’d just reprimand her if she tried to blame herself again. She shouldn’t have been surprised when he pulled her into a tight embrace, but a gasp of shock still fell from her throat as he did so.

“I’m so sorry…” he muttered against her ear, ducking his head against her shoulder as he held her tight.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t think there was anything she _could_ say…The only thing she could do was return the gesture, digging her fingers into the cotton of his shirt and pulling him closer. The pain would never go away, not truly…but it was a comfort knowing that she could find solace, no matter how small, here in her lover’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just supposed to be a cute little drabble, but it ended up as Angst when Rima started talking about her family. I'm sorry... D:


End file.
